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15
Gojo didn’t understand affection; and why would he? It wasn’t something he had grown up with, his parents didn’t love him in the way they were supposed to. He was treated like a burden; like his mere existence was a pain for everyone. From a young age he learned he was nothing; nobody would ever love him.
He believed that.
At first, a ting of pain reverberated through him upon learning of that, but after time he grew accustomed to it. The ache in his heart became a familiar feeling until it disappeared, and he pretended it didn’t exist.
Cover up his pain: that was the only solution. Mask his emotions. Plaster on a smile.
It was easy to pretend.
Pretending is what got Gojo through life. Laughing when he should’ve been crying in a corner, desolate and depressed.
Lying started to become a part of Gojo’s daily routine; he started doing it without so much as a second thought. Being a liar was an easy task, Gojo found out. Keeping his feelings on the inside, where he thought they belonged, would keep him safe. He couldn’t be hurt if everyone saw him as nothing more than a pain in the ass—a happy pain in the ass at that. Protecting himself was one of the few things he cared about: hell, his infinity was partly made for him to keep people at bay, never let them get close enough to hurt him, he created his own suit of armor.
Lie. Smile. Laugh. Pretend.
Four things Gojo did to keep himself from feeling anything. He was nothing more than an empty void that yearned for someone to love him. No, he wasn’t—that’s what he wanted to believe, he didn’t need anything else, his life was perfect the way it was, he was perfect.
He was the strongest jujutsu sorcerer; what more could he ask for than to continue being the best?
He desired more: being the best wasn’t enough. He hated people expecting things of him; eventually they would be let down by him, they almost always were. People continued to be disappointed in Satoru Gojo time and time again. Hell, Gojo would’ve raised an eyebrow if someone never became dissatisfied in him. He was used to this; completely shattering people’s expectations of him, the image of him they’d created in their heads.
Gojo felt a thrill course throughout his body at the shocked expressions people made when they found out the upcoming strongest jujutsu sorcerer was a teenage boy that always smiled, always laughed, always messed around even in serious situations.
Every time something went right in Gojo’s life he wondered how long it would last. All the best things for him always disappeared, left him without a trace, except for the lingering feelings and memories left behind.
The first time he was shown kindness, Gojo told himself it was only temporary.
Long locks of black hair cascaded down the back of the boy that stood next to him. Suguru Getou. They first met at orientation, with another girl named Shoko Ieiri. That was their entire class; small, giving Gojo room to breathe and do what he wanted to do, and that was just how he liked things.
Getou’s hand brushed against Gojo’s—stopped by Gojo’s infinity—when they attempted to run past one another to fight a curse that had shown up out of the blue.
Gojo didn’t say a word—he didn’t have too—because he knew, he knew without a doubt (though he couldn’t figure out why) that Getou wouldn’t mess things up. They were going to defeat the curse as a team.
For once, Gojo liked sharing the spotlight with somebody else.
From that point forward they became an unstoppable force. Everybody knew of them and their power. They were a duo that would never separate. Gojo and Getou became friends. Gojo hadn’t have friends, ever, the ones he did have always ran away from him. He was never good enough for anybody, but Getou, the one person Gojo would’ve never expected to grow close to, thought Gojo was perfect the way he is.
Getou made Gojo feel special.
How funny was that? Gojo was always the golden child that everybody knew was going to become a strong sorcerer. His entire life Gojo was told he was special; that he was better than others just because of his abilities; but only with Getou, Gojo finally believed that he was special.
Getou saw through Gojo’s act: Gojo hated that, but he loved it at the same time, being known was a thrilling experience, but frustrating. Slowly, he started to let Getou in, Getou began to see everything Gojo had to offer; all of Gojo’s feelings, emotions, thoughts.
Getou saw the worst parts of Gojo alongside the best.
Gojo didn’t understand how Getou could continue to be his best friend even after seeing all his worst aspects, the pieces of him he kept hidden away from the world because he didn’t want to become vulnerable.
Vulnerability, as it turned out, was something that Gojo needed to show more often. He was more human when he showed emotion. Under the layers that he had spent years crafting and building up to become someone incapable of feeling pain, he was someone begging to be held. He wouldn’t show anybody, except Getou, that he was pleading to have someone touch him in a caring way. Behind his eyes that danced with mirth were cinders that cried for him, screamed for someone, anyone, to show him that they loved him.
Getou upon looking at Gojo for the first time, understood that Gojo was a broken man that needed someone to piece him back together. Getou, after spending months with Gojo, growing close to the boy, realized that he was the one that would make Gojo feel whole again.
Emptiness is an awful sensation. It consumes you. Takes the breath out of your lungs. Makes the world seem dull and unexciting. Once you experience emptiness, you start to think that nothing matters, that everything is shit, and your life will never go anywhere but further down the rabbit hole.
The emptiness that had cultivated inside of Gojo began to disappear when Getou was around.
Getou was exactly what Gojo had been looking for all his life.
Getou broke down the walls that Gojo had built up and finally got through to him. Gojo loosened up around Getou, let his best friend see all of him.
Nobody would ever know Gojo quite like Getou did.
On a quiet Thursday night towards the end of their first year, they laid in bed with one another, legs tangled and noses almost touching. It was cold; the winter weather had yet to disappear despite it being spring. They shivered and huddled together under the warmth of Getou’s wool blanket.
They’d spent all night skateboarding on the street, letting the breeze whip them while they kick their feet on the ground and sped up. Neither of them wore jackets (and why would they; they didn’t believe in wearing jackets in the middle of March) and let the cold weather leave them shaking.
Gojo’s nose and cheeks were dusted pink as he attempted to do a trick to show off in front of Getou: in that moment, Getou wanted to kiss Gojo, wrap his arms around his best friend and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. Yet he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Nobody understood Gojo quite like he did, and he knew that without a doubt, Gojo wouldn’t shut off his infinity when he noticed Getou going in for a kiss.
So, he stood there, in the cold, watching Gojo mess around on his skateboard, crossing his arms to warm up slightly with a smile on his face.
They’d finished up skating around midnight, going indoors for cups of hot chocolate: Gojo put all sorts of decorations and extras on his, whipped cream, marshmallows, anything sweet he could find—and Getou drank his plain (though Gojo dumped a few marshmallows in his cup when he turned away for a moment).
When he noticed the addition of way too many white cubes in his drinks, Getou flicked Gojo, surprise overcoming him when the hit land. Gojo trusted Getou enough not to hurt him that he’d shut off his infinity.
At that moment, Getou forgot all about his sabotaged hot chocolate, and started thinking about how helplessly in love with Gojo he was.
He didn’t take a sip of his drink, but he watched Gojo gulp down his (and in true Gojo fashion, he winced when the hot liquid burnt his tongue). White covered Gojo’s nose by the time he was done; and Getou, without even thinking, reached forward and brushed the whipped cream off of Gojo’s nose and ate it.
Gojo smiled and they retired to Getou’s room.
Getou’s parents weren’t home; they almost never were, and Getou was grateful for that, he didn’t think he could deal with Gojo and his parents being in the same room.
Gojo complained of the room being freezing cold; that was a play to get Getou in the same bed as him. No matter how much he wanted to cuddle with Getou, he would never outright ask Getou to spoon with him. Letting Getou become aware of his crush would change things—Getou wouldn’t want to stay friends with a boy that loved him—at least that’s what Gojo believed. That was his first real friendship with somebody, and he wasn’t about to ruin it by admitting he had a crush that would fade over time.
He had to wait it out.
Waiting for him to no longer be in love with Getou would take ages; Gojo was aware of this, he was a smart boy, Getou was the first person, and most likely the last person Gojo was in love with.
Love was a fresh experience.
For the longest time Gojo pretended he wasn’t in love; how would he know what love was? He pushed away the thoughts that told him that he loved his best friend. It wasn’t true, he wouldn’t let it be true.
Love was terrifying. Loving someone was letting yourself get hurt. In a twisted sort of way, Gojo wanted himself to get hurt by Getou. It would only be right. The ending to every single one of his relationships was always pain. Getou wouldn’t be the outlier; the one person that didn’t hurt Gojo or be hurt by Gojo. Things would be as they were supposed to be, nothing but pure pain.
Gojo thought about hurting Gojo just so he could feel at ease. The foreign feeling he was experiencing made him want to die. Who knew love could be so painful?
Gojo matured after months of nonstop hating himself and hating Getou for what he was doing to him. He finally accepted that he was in love and there were no signs of him and Getou growing apart and loathing one another.
He embraced the crush and that’s what led him to telling Getou he was cold.
He was glad he did that because Getou settled in bed and invited Gojo to lay next to him. They became a puzzle of arms and legs and feet and hands and everything all at once.
That was the first time Gojo had experienced another person’s warmth.
It was nice, it was beautiful, it made something blossom in Gojo’s chest.
What an amazing feeling. Gojo never wanted to let go of that feeling; he would hold it in his heart for as long as he lived because it was the closest he’d ever felt to being loved.
They weren’t even a couple, but Gojo, somehow, knew that Getou loved him.
Getou’s lips brushed against Gojo’s ear as he whispered a string of words so delicate that Gojo’s heart nearly burst out of his chest.
“Can I kiss you?”
Gojo froze in place. What did he say? Once he gave his first kiss to Getou there was no turning back. His head told him to say ‘no’ that being kissed meant that he was opening himself to being stepped all over and hurt again: but his heart told him that saying yes would satisfy him for years to come and make the emptiness that was growing inside of him shrink.
Gojo listened to his heart.
“Yes.”
Their noses slid past each other and their lips touched. It was awkward until Gojo melted like ice cream on a hot summer day and let Getou kiss him. The kiss was soft, warm, more than Gojo imagined it would be. They found a rhythm. Lips moving to their own synchronized tune that made Gojo do somersaults on the inside.
Getou pulled away for a fraction of a second, trying to collect his thoughts, but Gojo pulled him right back in.
Gojo’s hands ran through Getou’s hair, tangling the soft strands, and the kiss deepened.
Fuck. Intimacy was so fucking good.
They didn’t stop, overcome by their desire to be closer than ever. Neither of them separated, barely able to breath with each other’s tongues down their throats, but they didn’t care. It didn’t get much better than that.
Getou sat up, resting his back on two stacked up pillows, and pulled Gojo so that the boy was sitting on his lap. From there, they kissed, with more fervor than before. It is then that Getou realizes that Gojo tastes sweet. It didn’t come as a surprise; Gojo was always snacking on something sweet to ‘stimulate his brain’. But he tasted like sweet raspberries and Getou found himself wanting to savour the taste of raspberries until he died.
Gojo’s arms wrapped around Getou’s neck and his mess of snow-white hair brushed against Getou’s forehead. Gojo’s fingers lifted up Getou’s chin to deepen the kiss.
Gojo thought it was an amazing kiss (he’d never kissed anyone before, so his opinion held no weight). Getou also thought it was a great kiss (he’d kissed many people before; his opinion held plenty of weight).
When they finally pulled away—after over fifteen minutes of nonstop kissing—their lips were tender. Gojo hadn’t expected his lips to feel so soft and tender; nobody ever mentioned that aspect of making out.
He didn’t mind it.
For a minute after that, they didn’t move, didn’t speak, let silence hang in the air as they figured out what they wanted to say.
Turns out, no words held more meaning than words.
They didn’t need to speak; their bodies had already done all the talking. They liked each other; not in the platonic way that they believed to be the case, but in a totally romantic way. They didn’t know how to proceed, after all, they were nothing more than fifteen-year-old boys that had no clue as to how relationships worked.
Getou was mature beyond his years so he was the first to murmur something to Gojo that Gojo almost didn’t catch.
“I like you, dumbass.”
Gojo smiled, ear to ear, in the way Getou was all too familiar with. “I suppose I like you too, bastard.”
“Where do we proceed from here?” Getou asked, reaching a hand up to rub along Gojo’s back. Gojo didn’t have time to formulate a plan of action because Getou’s parents pulled up in the driveway, bright headlights flashing.
Getou cursed under his breath and told Gojo to hide under the bed. Getou wasn’t allowed to have friends over on school nights; his parents believed that time should’ve been reserved for homework and getting a good night’s sleep. If he was caught hanging out with Gojo, or making out with him, his life was over.
Gojo wriggled under the bed.
Getou’s parents came in his room, told him to turn the lights off and go to bed, and then they vanished to their room. Getou waited to hear them begin to snore before he pulled Gojo from under the bed.
“Climb out of the window,” He whispered.
Gojo did as Getou instructed, blowing a kiss at Getou before jumping out of the window and onto the grass below.
16
The next time they saw each other, they didn’t bring up the kiss. They moved on like everything was normal and they hadn’t practically admitted they liked one another. Gojo, was perfectly fine with that, he wasn’t ready to commit to a relationship and open himself up further to Getou. Getting in a relationship meant that Gojo would have to lower his guard and let himself be loved instead of believing the worst was going to happen. Getou, on the other hand, was annoyed the Gojo kept avoiding the topic of their relationship. There was nothing he wanted more than to be Gojo’s boyfriend; but he knew, without a doubt, that Gojo was backing away.
Gojo and trust were not two things that coexisted. Getou wanted to mend them together so Gojo could finally accept that people loved him, and he needed to stop trying to protect himself before he truly was all alone.
Gojo, surprisingly enough, trusted Getou: that wasn’t saying much, he was still wary of Getou, but he knew Getou his back for the most part.
Getou was smarter than the fool Gojo painted him out to be. He was aware that Gojo didn’t trust him enough to be in a relationship with him. He was willing to change that no matter how long it took him too.
That was what love was to Getou: being willing to wait a thousand years for someone to finally be ready to love him the way he loved them. Love for Getou was understanding.
So, he waited—months—for Gojo to start to believe in him more (and in a way, Gojo had begun to love Getou equally during all of those months). They started to have an unspoken relationship; they knew it was there, but neither of them admitted that out loud, for all everyone thought they were nothing more than best friends. It had been ages since they were just friends—anyone with a brain could notice that they were helplessly in love with one another.
Patience: for them patience was what made their relationship work. Patience was virtue; perfect and necessary. Getou was patient with Gojo—he’d wait for Gojo as long as he was alive so long their relationship kept moving forward. Patience was a delicate thing; you had to know when to be patient and when not to be patient. Getou stopped being patient after spending day after day after day yearning over one Satoru Gojo, and finally let Gojo know what was on his mind.
They sat knee to knee on a Ferris wheel together—though it made far more sense for them to sit across from each other. It was the summer after their first year and it was a month shy of them beginning their second year. The thick heat came down on them in vicious waves, fat dollops of sweat dripped down their skin, and their ice cold water practically melted until drops of perspiration slid down the bottle. The amusement park burst with life; never-ending lines lead up to damn near every ride, little kids ran around escaping their desperate parents, ice cream covered mouths, conversations overlapped, screaming and laughing and joking around filled the air.
Getou and Gojo were on a date by the time they got on the Ferris wheel: Shoko was with them previously, but she ran off with some girl she met at the Dippin Dots stand (she didn’t so much as leave them with a goodbye, she merely ran off hand-in-hand with the girl).
Gojo begged for Getou to ride the Ferris wheel with him; Getou had refused at first, calling Gojo an idiot for wanting to wait in an hour-long line, Gojo said it would be worth it in the long run. And Gojo was right. The sun had begun the set; the sky a melting pot of pinks and oranges and yellows. They could see the entire city from the top. Lights flickered on, cars ran up and down the hallways, hills curved and made the scenery all the more beautiful.
Getou snapped a few pictures: three of the city as viewed from the top of the wheel, one of himself, and nearly a hundred of him and Gojo posing.
Like a scene ripped straight out of some cheesy rom com, they kissed. It was better than their first ever kiss in Getou’s room; sweeter, delicate, and they had become familiar with each other’s lips, so it was easier. Gojo melted into Getou’s touch and vice versa. It was perfect (every kiss they shared was).
The Ferris wheel stopped; Getou and Gojo didn’t. Tired workers shouted at them to get up so other people could have a chance on the ride. The two of them didn’t listen—they never listened; a fact of which they found amusing because they were immature teenage boys—and continued to kiss.
It took a worker entering their cart and unbuckling them and ushering them out for them to finally stop making out.
They left that section of the park in fits of giggles.
Gojo, as it turned out, was a huge fan of rollercoasters: Getou on the other hand, hated them with a passion. Once Gojo found out about Getou’s distaste for rollercoasters, he teased the onyx-haired boy, begged him to try to ride one again.
Getou turned the offer down; he truly disliked rollercoasters, he hated the way they made his stomach do flips, and he despised how loud they were. Gojo retaliated and called him a pussy—I mean, what strong jujutsu sorcerer could handle a curse but not a silly little ride?
Getou was not a “pussy”. He would ride on Gojo’s stupid fucking rollercoaster if it were the last thing he ever did.
Onto the ride they went. They sat next in the same cart together, holding hands, arms interlinked. The bar was lowered over their chest and Getou’s heart raced. Was it too late for him to get the fuck out of there and stand on the sidelines? Yes. They went up, up, up, and Getou gripped onto Gojo’s hand for dear life. They flew down, Getou’s stomach light and airy, a sensation that made Getou want to die. He cried out and buried his head in Gojo’s shoulder, begging for the ride to be over. They twisted, turned, and flipped upside down, at a speed that made Getou queasy.
They slowed down: Getou’s head did not. He was still spinning internally, and he couldn’t form a single coherent thought.
The bar was lifted and Getou was free! He considered kissing the ground but decided against it because he’d look ridiculous. Gojo teased him and brought up how Getou was holding onto him like a baby; and to pour salt on Getou’s already gaping wound, Gojo purchased the photos taken of them while on the ride. They showcased Getou’s face contorting in fear and Getou’s arms wrapped around Gojo all while Gojo smiled like an idiot overcome with joy.
Getou—years after the trip—would come to love the pictures.
They retired for the night after the rollercoaster. Getou bought them each a funnel cake (Getou’s was plain with a light dusting of powdered sugar, and Gojo’s had whipped cream and strawberries and chocolate sauce).
They found out that their ride—Shoko—had already left with the girl and so they didn’t have a way home.
“Well fuck,” Gojo had muttered. His signature smile was still gracing his face even in a time of crisis. Neither of them called their parents to pick them up: they didn’t want to deal with them and ruin what had been the perfect day.
“What should we do?” Getou had asked, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, and lighting it. He offered one to Gojo but Gojo scrunched up his nose in distaste and shook his head.
They were stranded on the parking lot.
Night had started to set it. People rushed to their cars and drove out of the parking lot. Traffic began and the park began the process of shutting down one ride at a time.
“Call Mei Mei,” Gojo said.
Getou did, being on the receiving end of Mei Mei’s annoyance. They had woken her from her sleep and sleep was something she liked to catch every minute of. It didn’t take her long to pick them up; she was notorious for her fast driving and tendency to get in street races.
They sat in the backseat—well, Getou sat upright and Gojo rested his head on Getou’s lap. Delicate fingers played with white strands of hair, scratching behind Gojo’s ears like he was a tiny kitten.
Mei Mei had rolled the windows down; a gentle breeze cooling all of them down, and even making Gojo sleepy. Gojo yawned and fell asleep.
A smile graced Getou’s face.
They stopped at Getou’s house and Getou threw Gojo over his shoulder like he was nothing more than a sack of potatoes (he certainly weighed more than them, Getou noted). He walked up the stairs—silently—his parents were still asleep. Gojo murmured something that Getou didn’t pick up on and the two of them entered Getou’s room.
Gojo was thrown on Getou’s bed.
Getou’s shirt was lifted over his head as he rummaged through his drawers to find a pajama top. Gojo awoken, sleepily making a comment about how Getou had a perfect body with some of the most defined muscles Gojo had seen in a long time.
The shirt ended up staying off.
Getou climbed into bed next to Gojo and interlocked their fingers and pressed a chaste kiss on Gojo’s forehead. He offered Gojo clothes so his friend wouldn’t be left in the same dirty clothes he’d worn all day; Gojo changed in a different pair of shorts and stayed sans shirt, just like Getou.
Once Gojo laid back in bed he whispered a set of words Getou hadn’t expected to ever come out of Gojo’s mouth.
“I’m ready to be your boyfriend,” He’d said, turning so that his back faced Getou, like he was trying to avoid Getou (and he was failing miserably).
Finally, after so many months spent waiting and building their relationship until it had a stable ground made of trust, Gojo was finally going to be his. Getou’s stomach dipped—just how it had when he rode the rollercoaster with Gojo—except that time, it was a positive sensation.
This was the moment that happened in every single one of the shitty romance books Getou had read: it was the turning point, the climax, the moment everybody had waited for.
This was new to both of them: Getou had yet to experience love that wasn’t fake or forced, and Gojo had never been loved. They were two men that shouldn’t have ever touched romance a day in their lives; they were broken inside no matter how much they acted like they weren’t. Gojo pretended he was fine when he longed for the gentle touches of anyone. Getou couldn’t open up; and when he did it was always in a negative way that hurt everyone around him.
They found comfort in each other.
Getou understood Gojo and Gojo understood Getou. It seemed as if they were always destined to meet—to love each other because nobody else will.
For Gojo, trust had always been a tricky thing. He expected to be stabbed in the back; hell, he couldn’t imagine living without a knife lodged deep in his back courtesy of none other than those closest to him. Trust was pure evil: trusting people was leaving yourself open to them. The second you started to believe in someone, they would show their true colours and hurt you until you were nothing but an empty shell.
Gojo, without a doubt, knew that Getou would never hurt him. And Getou didn’t; the thought of betraying Gojo never crossed his mind.
Getou had always needed someone that he knew would love him for him. Someone that loved him, bad aspects and all, was the one Getou desired. Gojo was right for him because Gojo didn’t judge. Gojo accepted him no matter how awful he could be.
They were two men that couldn’t live without one another. They kept each other sane.
“I’m ready to be your boyfriend too,” Is what Getou said as he wrapped his arms around Gojo’s waist. They fell asleep in that position with goofy smiles on their faces.
18
Graduation came sooner than they expected. They’d dated for nearly two years at that point, and they had yet to have any issues arise.
They were still grossly in love with each other: they didn’t shy from letting everybody know that either—they would kiss on school grounds, flirt in public at group events, and they would look at one another with soft, affectionate eyes.
They had their caps and gowns on, walking to their—rather small—ceremony. They’d all made it. They’d lived through high school and managed to graduate with flying colours. Never in a million years would they have imagined they’d be there, on the stage accepting their diplomas and moving forward in their lives.
Graduating wasn’t the most shocking thing to them: the fact that they had yet to break each other’s hearts and crush them took the cake.
They’d gone into the relationship knowing that love was something they didn’t quite grasp. A rocky beginning of the relationship where they learned what it meant to trust and love led to a relationship that was able to bloom into something beautiful.
It was safe to say that they learned all about love and loving.
As Gojo walked across the stage to grab his diploma, Getou cheered louder than anyone else in the room. Gojo took notice of Getou’s wide grin and did a backflip just to make Getou cheer louder.
After the ceremony they went to a nice restaurant to have dinner.
A heavy secret weighed down on Getou; he was used to having secrets and keeping them inside of him so nobody could learn of them, but he knew he needed to tell Gojo his secret.
Having secrets while in a relationship was a tricky thing: you had to know what secrets were best being kept inside—the small ones that didn’t hurt your significant other—and you had to know what secrets needed to be spoken aloud.
Getou wasn’t a stranger to secrets; he’d grown up on lies and deceptions and secrets. The act of keeping things private was one that Getou was a master at.
However, he was a clever man; keeping such a huge secret away from Gojo would only bring them misery.
So while they ate their dinner, Getou told the secret that had been plaguing his mind: He was going to a college thousands of miles away.
Gojo laughed and said:
“That’s okay. I’ll wait for you to come back. I’ll always wait for you to come back no matter how long it takes you to return.”
21
Getou returned home.
He’d finished his studying abroad; and a year early—he’d studied relentlessly so he could graduate earlier than planned. He hated not being able to see Gojo every single day. Though they still called and met each other during breaks, Getou felt empty, lonely. He didn’t realize how much he loved hearing Gojo’s laugh until it was gone. He missed the open-mouth kisses Gojo would harass him with after he woke up. Most of all, he missed being able to sit in silence with Gojo, their hands intertwined, and their limbs tangled in a mess.
Getou didn’t tell Gojo he was coming home; it was a surprise (one of which Getou hoped scared the shit out of Gojo).
He waited for Gojo to arrive home from college, hiding behind the door and jumping out when the door swung open. Gojo, in a knee-jerk reaction, punched Getou straight in the nose.
Blood trickled down Getou’s face, but he didn’t mind, the pain was calming. He was used to it: he wasn’t used to seeing Gojo in a blindfold instead of sunglasses. He made a snarky comment regarding the new look and Gojo made an equally snarky comment about not recognizing Getou with a bloody nose.
They didn’t say what they were thinking: that they loved each other more than words could explain. Absence makes the heart grow fonder; that what’s everyone always said. It was true. In their years apart, empty holes had started to form in their hearts, the same emptiness they were all too familiar with.
Their mutual love kept their hearts from spiraling into a state of nothingness. Though they had taught each other that love didn’t hurt nearly as much as they believed it too, they were still okay with the emptiness that had begun to reform. It wasn’t severe—no—every single word laced with affection that they texted or said to each other kept the romance alive. It kept them from going back down the rabbit hole.
“I love you,” Getou said, as he and Gojo snuck away to their shared room—they had rented the house together months after graduation—collapsing onto the bed and kissing oh so delicately.
Gojo had never heard those words directed at him; it was Getou’s first time saying them, he’d held back all those years because he wasn’t read to be vulnerable like that. It was like a shock to his system. A dream: only in a dream would someone say those three precious words to him. But it wasn’t a dream, they were both awake, and Gojo knew, knew that he’d been waiting to hear those words his entire life because he crumbled. He removed his blindfold and let the tears flow freely because he was the happiest he’d ever been.
“I love you too,”
26
Getou got on one knee. Gojo melted.
28
Over a decade together: they couldn’t fathom as how they had managed to last so long. They didn’t believe in soulmates—all hope of soulmates existing had been crushed when they were children—but it felt like, they were always destined to be together until they both ended up six feet under.
The thing about Satoru Gojo and Suguru Getou is that they were never meant to be best friends. No. The world intended for them to find something in each other that made them grow. Together, they were unstoppable: whether it be fighting curses as a duo, or simply being themselves as a couple, nobody could stand in their path.
Gojo could recall the moment he’d first started to fall in love with Getou. Falling in love with Getou was a slow process; Gojo had bottled up his feelings and pushed them away because that was what he was used to. But at one point, he realized that sometimes letting out his feelings led to finding love. The first time he knew he loved Getou it was when they first went roller skating together. They’d held hands and danced and laughed until their stomachs hurt, and they tumbled onto the ground. Getou had tied up his long locks of hair into a bun and the voice in Gojo’s head told him that Getou was perfect; the man Gojo loved.
Every moment after that was bliss. Everything was easy with Getou. For once, it was simple figuring out his emotions and showing everything he had to offer.
It was the easiest decision of his life accepting Getou’s proposal.
Gojo walked down the altar looking like he’d just run off the set of a magazine shoot; he was ethereal—his blue eyes glimmered, he smiled in a way he’d never before, and his suit looked amazing on his lean build. Getou found himself falling in love with Gojo all over again. It was like they were fifteen again, meeting for the first time.
Gojo stopped in front of Getou, holding his hands, rubbing his thumb over Getou’s in the way he knew would calm down his fiancé.
They didn’t exchange vows—they both agreed to do that in private where nobody else could hear and they could honestly say what was on their mind—and they skipped straight ahead to getting married.
Shoko was their best man, standing off to the side and watching the couple finally get married.
“Do you, Suguru Getou, take Satoru Gojo to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest said.
“I do.”
Getou looked into Gojo’s eyes and smiled.
“And do you, Satoru Gojo, take Suguru Getou to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Gojo didn’t hesitate before answering.
“I do.”